Radha and Krishna wander through the groves of Vraja, plucking flowers together. But the bamboo bees keep harassing Radhika — leaving the blossoms and rushing again and again at her very face. "Krishna, that bunch up higher — where the bees do not reach. You pluck it for me." But Krishna turns playful: "No, no, that flower I will not pluck. I would rather just lift you up — and you pluck it yourself." He would sooner hold her in his arms than reach for a blossom himself. And gently he raises Radhika up, to where the bees do not roam, and she plucks the high bud; tiny beads of sweat break out on her brow. In return, with the end of her own veil, her anchala, Radhika begins softly to fan Krishna. And the breeze from that fan touches her first — and only then reaches him. At which Krishna goes still, overcome with gratitude... to the very wind: for it had touched her before it came to him.